No Strings Attached
by K. Nefertiti
Summary: Dallas Winston grew up in New York, not attaching himself to anyone and living life on his own. Twenty truths about Dallas Winston.


**I don't own The Outsiders. The story and characters belong to S.E. Hinton. I'm just taking them for a joyride.**

**A/N: Any reviews/concrit is welcome. Recently edited 08/04/2010, thanks to TheUglySpirit.**

**

* * *

**

1) Dallas Winston was born like any other baby in New York.

It's in a hospital, and there is yelling and crying and cursing. His mother holds him in his arms, and names him after her favorite city. She's always wanted to escape the high life of New York and move back down south to where she was raised, but money is tight, and it's a move that she can't make now, especially with a baby.

She sits in her hospital bed and softly runs her fingers through the small patch of hair resting on the top of his head. When he wakes up and whimpers, she can see those brilliant blue eyes, the epitome of innocence.

In a moment of peace, she brings his head to her heart and wonders what the future would hold.

2) At the age of six, Dallas Winston is smarter than most children.

He knows that when his parents are fighting and the walls shake from the screaming and the yelling that it's better to just pretend that he is asleep.

When there is that funny smell on his father's clothes, and his speech doesn't sound too good, it's better to just stay in his room.

He sees kids on the playground. They play in the sandbox and drink juice from the cup that their mother's brought from home.

He likes those moms.

They wear pretty dresses, and their hair is always curled just right. They've got that look like the woman on those shows where everything is a perfect family life. She makes dinner, and the family sits around the table and says grace. They laugh and joke and smile like there isn't a problem in the world.

He used to stand in front of that store all day watching those happy family shows through the transparent glass wall until the storeowner would come out and yell "Shoo!" He wonders how those families came to be and why his isn't like that.

After a while, he started going out of his comfort zone, walking the streets of the city after dark, copying the slouch and movements of the older boys who always tend to hang out on the street. Sometime's they'll nod in his direction and snicker.

"Hey, kid, you lost?"

At first he doesn't know what to say, but after a while he gathers the courage.

"I ain't no kid," he says, then sticks his hands in his pockets and walks right past.

They whoop and holler, and he feels some of the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He wonders what they are going to do, but he just keeps walking because if there is one thing he has learned in the first six years of his life, it's to never show your true feelings. If you are scared, you act mad. If you are mad, you act cool.

Dallas isn't dumb. He knows the score.

3) A broken glass, the slam of a door and the cursing of his mother leads a six-year old Dallas to the window.

His father is leaving.

Not that he has ever been a major factor in his life anyway. He's always home late, but Dallas never went to him, for fear of being an unknown victim of his father's constant need to hit things, and the nasty fumes that seem to cloud his face and cause him to want to heave over the toilet for the rest of the night.

He's always been an asshole, yes Dallas knows that word, his father has only said it to him and his mother every day of his life. Then, his mother does worse, and that leaves her with a handprint on her face, her eyes widened in shock even though it happens twice a week.

That's usually when Dallas goes into his room and hides under his bed.

But Dallas isn't going to hide no more. His father isn't going to scare him no more.

His father's gone.

Good riddance.

4) Dallas is eight years old when he sees his first dead body.

It's a homeless man, lying on his side with his arms wrapped around his middle, clutching an invisible comfort. His head, covered in patches of gray, unkempt hair, rests against the rusty corner of an overfilling trash bin. He's lying on top of a growing puddle of dark liquid and Dallas can't help but get closer to see what it is. A small sound squeaks from nearby, and he quickly checks down the alley to make sure that he's alone, when he dips his tiny index finger into the dark mass. It comes away red, and he scrambles back, falling on his behind, as he attempts to get away from what he now knows is a dead body.

His back hits a wall, and his head collides roughly with the tough exterior, but he continues to stare at the unmoving man lying on the ground. A scent starts to fill his nostrils and he can't tell whether the stench is from the garbage or the man, but all he knows is that he doesn't want an unfortunate end like this. Dying, all alone, in a world where no one cares.

The only breaths in the alleyway are his, and the only sign of life comes from his steadily beating heart, which has finally toned down after the initial scare.

He sits there for another half hour before gathering the courage to crawl closer. He stares at the wrinkles, the tattered clothes and the emptiness between his arms, and he makes a pact right there, with himself, to never die.

He sits there for a few more minutes until he hears a sound in the alleyway and all of a sudden there is a flashlight appearing, and it's getting so close to his small shoes.

He runs.

5) He doesn't even know the kids name, all he knows is that he gave one too many insults and Dallas thought it was about time to introduce himself to New York City.

Dallas knows his mom isn't perfect. In fact, ever since his father left and she took to having various men come over, Dallas stays away from his house as much as possible. He knows what goes on. That doesn't mean this kid can say it though.

He's swinging his fists like he's seen his father do, and is ignoring the smarts and pains coming from his body where the other kid managed to retaliate. He vaguely hears sirens in the distance, but ignores them as he always has. They've always come for someone else, so he doesn't make the connection that they could possibly be here for him this time.

The feet of the people standing by start to disappear and the next thing he knows, he's being pulled back by someone obviously much stronger and much bigger than himself. He twists and turns and struggles to get away, because he doesn't know who this guys is and there is nothing worse in New York than being grabbed by a stranger.

He feels his arms being pulled behind his back, and a cool metal being clasped on his wrists. He finally stops fighting and looks up at the other kid. The same situation is happening and Dallas can see the police officer as clear as day. It finally hits him. He's being arrested.

He gets shoved into the back of the police car, and on the way to the station, he ponders. What does this mean?

His mom is probably going to be angry, and he's never been to jail before, even though sometimes he would watch it on the TV in the window. He wonders if he's going to have to wear a black and white striped outfit, but then he wonders if they even have pants and shirts in his size.

He doesn't really knows what he feels. He's seen it happened before, and he's always wondered what it would be like to have his headed guided into a police car and be hauled off to the fuzz, as they call them.

The next day, he's released and when he walks outside and smells the polluted air he can only realize, and even though he isn't in a six-by-six foot room with metal bars and cinderblock walls, he's still in a prison and has been since the day he was born.

Because now, there isn't any going back.

6) He becomes somewhat infamous, being arrested at the age of ten, but he isn't the first and he definitely won't be the last. A couple months after his first arrest, (and so far only, because remember, Dallas isn't dumb and he learned from his mistake) he's approached by those teenagers that he sees on the streets every day. He doesn't know any of their names, because none of them are really special, Dallas thinks, after all, they're coming after an 11-year old kid. But Dallas can't help but relish in that feeling of pride that sweeps through his body.

They take him to meet "boss", who is just an older teen, probably eighteen or so, in dirty jeans, black boots and a tough-looking leather jacket. His dark hair is short, but it's got that dangerous feel to it that is complimented by the cigarette that dangles out of his mouth.

He glances at Dallas over the top of his glasses and then looks at his buddies in disbelief. One of them nods, and the "boss" leans back, taking his cigarette out of his mouth and resting it between his index and middle fingers.

"I want a new switchblade, kid," he says coolly.

Dallas stand in place, not really sure what "boss" meant by that, and one of the other guys realizes that even though Dallas is tough, someone is going to have to show him the ropes before he gets killed.

The one who had convinced him to come and meet "boss" laughs to ease the tension that is sitting in the air. "Find a drugstore, but we ain't going to give you no money," he hints.

Dallas is a little nervous, he's never really stolen anything like a switchblade before, but he knows that he has to hide his emotions; otherwise he's open bait. So, he shrugs his shoulders and making sure to keep his head held high, he walks out of the small shack and into the busy streets of New York.

Not an hour later, Dallas comes back, throws the switchblade on the counter. The "boss" raises his eyebrows, as Dallas pulls out a pack of smokes like the ones that the other guys have, and coolly sticks the cigarette in his mouth. He pulls out the set of matches and lights one on fire, and holds it to the end of the stick.

He's never done this before and he hopes he can pull it off.

He sucks in the smoke like it's no big deal, and even though he wants to cough real bad, he just keeps the air locked tight in his chest like it's some big secret that the world can never know.

"Where did you get those, kid?" the "boss" wants to know. Dallas shrugs his shoulders nonchalantly.

"Where I got yo' switchblade."

7) The family reminds him of his own. A father who yells, a mother who curses and a small boy who seems to be frightened of the world.

It's him, the "boss" and a couple other guys from the gang. The father had some gambling debt, and the "boss" decided that it was about time that the father realized who he was dealing with.

He also thought it would be good for Dallas to get a real taste for gang life.

They barge in, causing the mother to yell and the child to scream. The man's eyes widen and dart frantically as if he believed he had a chance to escape his fate.

The woman looks at her husband and starts yelling and cursing. "What did you do?"

"Boss" heads over and starts talking with the man, inquiring about money and debt, and how it's about damn time that you start paying me back. The man glares back, even though he's an inch shorter than the "boss". Not one to take any type of insult, whether it's a curse word or a stare, "boss" starts to beat the crap out of the man in front of his wife and kid and Dallas starts to wonder if maybe this was such a good idea.

Not that he ever showed his insecurity. The entire time, Dallas stood with his arms crossed over his chest as he stared at the punishment.

"Boss" mentions something about paying up soon or else, and the man just sneers.

"Like I'm going to pay a bunch of kids."

What comes next happens a little too fast for Dallas to keep up, but the next thing he knows is that there is a loud bang, like a thundercloud right next to your ear. He blinks and shakes his head, caught off guard.

He looks down at the floor and sees the man lying on his stomach, blood seeping from the hold in his head.

The boy's eyes are wide but reserved. He knew this was going to happen.

8) Dallas is thirteen when he almost dies for the first time.

He didn't even see it coming, and come to think of it, the driver probably didn't either. All he knows is that one moment he was fighting that some Italian asshole, and after he had managed to get a few hits, the jeers and yells from the crowd around him pushing him on, the other kid was able to slug him across the face once and then shove him out of the alley and into the street.

He barely remembers pain searing throughout his body, and the hard gravel digging into his face. But before he loses all recognition, he sees a shadow of black come over his face. But it's not like before, it's a shape, it's a calling…

Am I dead?

No.

He wakes up in a hospital with tubes in his arms, up his nose and down his throat. His eyes are rough and his body is immobile. The nurse freak outs, like it's the second coming of Jesus Christ, and he wonders if they had ever thought of pulling the plug and giving up on him.

But Dallas Winston proved, to himself and to others, he's just too stubborn to die.

That kid never messed with him again.

9) After his personal grasp with death, Dallas Winston is infamous in the streets of New York.

He's now known as the thirteen-year old (even though his birthday was last week and he's fourteen now) who beat a truck in a head-on collision. The fame and the pride go to his head, and while some see him as a hero, others begin to see him as a potential threat.

You've got to cut them down when they're young.

He's alone, walking back from meeting with the "boss". Ever since he taught that Italian a lesson and managed to survive a usually fatal injury, he's been given more jobs and status within the gang.

It's become his life the last few years, and he thinks about his future, (gang president, maybe? But then again, Dallas doesn't like keeping other people in line. He's got better things to do. He takes care of himself, not other people) and wonders how he can grab the power from under the "bosses" nose.

He doesn't notice the three Pontiac's that drive up on the street. The stop in front, next to and behind him, blocking him from making any escape. Not that he would have been able to get away anyway, there are at least eight guys, and he wonders if these might be his final moments.

It starts quick. It hurts, but Dallas can't really do anything but cross his arms to prevent the fists from hitting his face. After a while, he can't register anything and he wonders if the throbbing is from his bruises or if he is still being hit.

It's all very fluid, one after another, some watching, some cheering, others doing the dirty work. It seems like a hundred years to him, but in reality, it's only about twenty minutes, and Dallas ponders why time seems to go so slow when he is in pain.

10) He wakes up in an old building with colored glass and a cross in front of a grand altar. He can hear chanting in the background, and the trickle of water being poured into a basin.

He flinches when he feels a soft cloth dab at his face, and he looks up to see a young nun with kind blue eyes and a soft smile looking at him. Her eyes are full of sadness, as if she knows that know matter how much she wants to help him, she knows that he's hopeless, another hood who grew up on the wrong side of the streets and learned the wrong rules to follow.

Two days later, Dallas is well enough to sneak out while everyone else is sleeping. On his way out of the church, he sees a gold medallion hanging on a door. He walks up, forgetting that he is sneaking out and really shouldn't be messing around, but he's just mesmerized by the engraving, but he can't figure out what it is.

He looks around, up and down the stone hallways, before pulling the medal off of the hook and stuffing it in his pocket.

He doesn't know why he stole from the church, and every time he looks at that medallion and puzzles over the intricate marks of the picture, he wonders why he bothered to take it.

It was starting to become second nature.

11) When Dallas returns to the streets with a black eye, a cut lip and a light limp in his left leg, most people stare at the fourteen-year old in wonder.

"Boss" doesn't really notice. Everyone in the gang gets beat up every now and then, and as long as it doesn't happen due to gang business, it's generally ignored.

But Dallas can't ignore it. Those guys beat him up just because they were jealous. Jealous of a fourteen year old who happened to survive against all odds.

He gathers the members of the gang that he's closest to and the ten of them walk around the streets until they find the other gang around two in the morning. Rough words are exchanged and weapons are pulled out. Chains, brass knuckles, a tire iron are all held with regard.

It's a bloody fight. Dallas's body still hurts from the beating he had received not even a week before, but he shuts down his nervous system and doesn't feel anything, does see anything except the massive fight before him. He's leading his buddies, punching and hitting. He dodges a lead pipe, but gets socked in the jaw with a fist wrapped in a chain.

After ten minutes (but it seems like so much longer) the other guys gather their friends and hurry out of the alleyway. It's one of the first feelings of euphoria that Dallas has had since he walked out of the hospital miraculously alive.

The feeling of invincibility is short lived though.

12) He's never been beat up by one of his own gang. The "boss" takes it upon himself to teach Dallas why the gang doesn't have rumbles with other gangs without going through him first.

It seems like he's always hurting these days.

It's a simple punishment, meant to scare him rather than make him immobile.

But Dallas Winston begins to see the gang for what it really is. A group of people who follow a person who never really had any merit to begin with.

So Dallas decides to leave.

The "boss" threatens to kill him, no one leaves a gang alive, but the other members, members who are too scared to do something on their own stick up for Dallas. He's only fourteen, what is he going to be able to do?

The "boss" can see that despite the fact that the members of his gang would never turn completely against him, they aren't going to let him kill Dallas, so he pulls out his switchblade and hold it to the young teen's neck, and as a few strands of blond hair cut from the knife digging into his skin fall to the ground, he threatens to end him completely if Dallas is ever seen on his turf again.

Dallas stares back at the guy who he used to want to be, until he realized that being with other people only holds you down. A gang consists of two parts. The leader and the followers. Dallas doesn't want to lead, but he's gotten the idea that he just can't follow either.

It's time for him to go on his own.

Everyone that he had met and interacted with so far were nothing but fuzzy faces in his memories. It was about time that he left everything behind him to start his own journey.

No strings attached.

13) It takes him two months to get to Tulsa.

He loses a lot of weight, between walking and barely eating. He catches rides when he can, but due to lack of money and anything to scare people with, he's mostly on his own.

He doesn't know why he's going to Tulsa, he hasn't seen his father in nearly nine years, but he knows that he can't stay in New York anymore, and there isn't anywhere else to go.

When he gets to capital of Oklahoma, he expects something like New York, but is disappointed to see that action here qualifies as robbing a liquor store or having a beer blast.

He heads to a bar where he meets the owner, a buck-toothed cowboy, and manages to secure a room upstairs for a few days. The cowboy talks about horse racing, and Dallas decides to attempt it. He needs a way to get some money in order to hold his own over this twenty-something rodeo clown.

14) Right after he gets settled in, not that he has much with him, he finds out where the man who walked out of his life lives and made his way over to the run down apartment complex on the outskirts of the city.

There's a beer bottle and something else outside the door. It looks dead, so Dallas doesn't touch it but he can't help but stare. When the door opens up, and an older man steps out, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion, Dallas stares right back with that cool façade that he has perfected since he was thirteen.

"Who are ya?"

"Dallas."

The man's eyes widen, then return to their original state, though there seems to be more of a glare than a stare this time around.

"Whaddya want?"

"I'm in town. To stay."

The man shrugs his shoulders. "So? Whaddya want me to do about it?" and with that he turns around and slams the door in his face.

At first, Dallas is pissed something awful, and is tempted to storm in and teach that man a lesson or two. But then again, he did just get into town, and he really doesn't want to stir up trouble so early. Angry that he can't get his revenge and angry that he managed to fool himself into believing that his father might want something to do with him causes him to turn around and walk down the stairs to hunt up some action.

He never sees his father again.

But he doesn't care either

15) The first time he meets the people who seemingly become his friends, he amazed at how he has changed since his days in New York.

On his way back to the bar, he sees a group of teenagers about his age playing football in the park. He heads over, intent on getting some information in order to find out, because this place is out of it, and he doesn't think he's been this bored since he had to stay in the hospital for two weeks after he had that fight with the truck.

There is a big one, he obviously played football, and if it wasn't for the greaser clothing, Dallas would have guessed that he had belonged on the other side of town. His short hair and muscular frame make him stand out in the group of six friends.

There are two guys about his age who seem to be best friends. One looks like he pays too much attention to his hair every morning, (complicated curls like that aren't natural) and the other looks too good-looking for his own benefit. They're joking and laughing like they don't have a care in the world and Dallas tries to think back to when he felt like that. (Maybe never?)

There is a tall, lanky one with long sideburns who is doubling up laughing while the other two stand by in modest embarrassment. He's clutching a beer bottle within the side of his jacket, but even Dallas can't tell whether he's actually drunk or just acting boozed.

The smallest of the two boys left looks somewhat similar to the muscular guy. He doesn't look like he really belongs, for one he looks younger and more innocent than everyone else, and second he looks like he isn't really paying attention. He's still with the group but Dallas can tell that he's a dreamer.

The last one is tan and has long, dark hair that is heavily greased. (He doesn't understand this grease thing, even in New York, it wasn't his thing) He's not as tiny as the other kid, but there is a small exterior that is presented, and Dallas wonders what happened to make him so reticent.

16) He's the leader of a gang, named after his own last name (real creative there), and Dallas can't help grin when he meets him for the first time.

It's three days after he's created a permanent residence in the South, and he's sitting at the bar when a sixteen-year old sits on the stool next to him and orders a beer loudly like he's twenty-one and on top of the world.

A smaller, almost identical little brother is next to him the whole time regarding his older sibling with awe like he's some sort of God that has descended onto Earth.

He's sitting on his stool real cool, but Dallas can see it hidden in his long, wiry muscles, the guy is just itching for a fight. Dallas can tell that he hasn't had a decent contest in a while and just wants to just up and fight like he has his entire life for nothing but a reputation and pride.

With a grin, Dallas downs the rest of his beer, wipes his mouth on his sleeve and then shoves the brand new bottle of beer that has just been placed in front of the dark, curly-haired hood onto the floor where it lands with a crash as glass splatters across the wooden boards.

The hood looks up at him with an incredulous face, but after seeing the grin on his face and the challenge in Dallas's eyes, he jumps up and swings a punch.

The next day they are both sporting a block eye and some cracked ribs, but they've found someone that they can rely on for a good fight any day of the week.

17) He's waiting outside the for the tan boy, and he looks up when he hears loud voices coming from inside the run down home that seems to barely stand on it's four walls.

The woman is yelling in a high-pitched voice that sounds hoarse, as if she has been smoking a cigarette factory for the past 36 years of her life. He sees the father, who ignores the whole scene, only to turn around every so often to raise his hand, (he hasn't hit him yet, but he know if he does he might not be able to stop himself).

When the teenager comes out of the house, his hands deep in the pockets of his jeans jacket, he doesn't say anything, and Dallas doesn't mention it.

Dallas can't help but feel hatred, and even though he hasn't really met them yet, he knows exactly what types of people they are.

They either tear down walls or build them high.

18) The rest of the gang doesn't know what to do, and so Dallas takes it upon himself to bring the small, scared boy back to the bar where he cleans him up.

He wipes the blood from his face and checks his arms for broken bones. He's learned a lot of simple first aid over the years, both from watching and personal experience.

He thinks back to when he was like this, beaten up and bloodied. He remember the following events too, waking up in a church, leading a gang away from their leader and coming real close to death by the hands of the person who taught him how to survive on the streets.

Then, he thinks about what he had done before. Getting arrested for fighting at the age of ten, joining a New York gang run by a ruthless leader, standing by as a man was shot in his living room while the TV played in the background, and he wonders what this sixteen-year old kid has done to warrant his suffering.

While he pays extra attention to the big cut on his cheek that will undoubtedly scar his face for the rest of his life, he manages to sneak a look into his eyes.

The boy's eyes are wide but reserved. He knew this was going to happen.

19) His head falls back onto the pillow and the breaths stop coming.

He's seen a man shot in the back of the head, and a child become an innocent victim of a robbery. This time, it's a sixteen-year old kid. The same damn sixteen year old kid who he cleaned up in the bathroom the night he got jumped, and the same damn sixteen year old kid he's been watching over for the past few years.

He remembers pulling on the collar of that jean jacket, the same damn jean jacket not five feet away, and pulling his dark face near his.

"_Hop the three-fifteen freight to Windrixville."_

He feels something in his throat, he hasn't felt this feeling in years, and he doesn't even remember what it's called. All he knows is that he can't stop it.

His eyes burn, _why, why are they burning?,_ and he blinks quickly, his breathing becoming quick and unsteady. He glares because he doesn't understand this emotion.

His rough hands run through the dark hair, "C'mon, don't die on me now," he urges, unsure why he just won't wake up damn it, and why his eyes are burning, and why his throat is caught in a knot. He can feel his voice trembling, and suddenly all of this anger just erupts. Anger, rage, irritation, he doesn't understand what is happening and everything just starts to slow down.

He jumps up, rattling the hospital bed and punches the wall with a fierce fury. He takes one last look at that body lying on the bed, and stares for a few seconds, as if he magically expects it to just sit up and start talking. But he doesn't, and Dallas starts to wonder what this means.

He matches eyes with the youngest Curtis brother real quick. His face is frozen in shock, and stares at the seventeen year old, with a visage that won't let Dallas know what he's thinking, even though he's always been able to read the kid like a book. But then, another knot jumps up his throat and he runs out the door before anyone can figure him out.

The fourteen-year old kid watches Dallas sprint out of the room, and he wonders what part of Dallas Winston was gallant. He looked down, at his friend, but no, he's dead, that's not your friend, that's just a body, and he wonders if this was the final cut to the fine piece of thread that held Dallas Winston onto the spool of humanity.

20) He doesn't feel anything as he pounds his feet down the street. The phone call to the Curtis house is just a murmur is his head, swimming with emotions that he has bottled down since a childhood that has long since ended. He hasn't had any alcohol in two days, but he feels drunk. The ground is spinning, the night is blurry and there are voices inside his head that he can hear but not understand. He is feeling a high that can't be bought, and it brings him to a sense of deliriousness where he feels he can beat anything.

The flashes of red lights and sirens barely register to his senses, but he understands that he is surrounded. Everything is a blur, and all he can think of is a body with a tan face and dark hair, lying on a cold hospital bed. He can't see the face, _because it isn't him, he isn't dead_, and he pulls out the slick revolver from his waist belt and points it in a general direction.

"You ain't gonna get me alive!"

He doesn't know what he says, at this point, everything is just going and going, and nothing seems to slow down.

The knot in his throat falls as he feels pain, pain throughout his body, spreading like wildfire on a hot, humid day. He feels another slash through his leg, and it brings him to the ground, his face hitting the cold, hard dirt of the Earth.

But Dallas Winston doesn't quit.

With all of his strength, he pushes his hands into the soft ground and lifts himself up, before another round hits him in the back. He feels his body pushed forward, and he falls for the second time, onto the rough asphalt.

"No!"

"He's just a kid!"

"Don't shoot!"

Random voices appear, and Dallas looks up. He sees five figures running in the distance, but he can't see their faces, he doesn't know who they are, why they are here. He begins to drag himself, but to where, he has no idea. All he knows is that he has to keep moving forward. It's how he survived these seventeen years of his life.

His high has reduced to a slow pounding that rings in his ears. He can't feel the blood dripping from his mouth, or the gravel that is digging into his hands. He wonders why his face is wet when it isn't even raining. He blinks slowly, as the world in front of him starts to go unfocused, and then falls onto his back, his face staring up at the dark sky that is littered with stars. He is curious as to why he is lying on his back, and why his body is so numb, and suddenly he wonders is this is how _he _felt at the hospital, alone and immobile. In one last moment before a shroud of darkness overcomes him, he thinks of that tan face and the dark hair. But now he sees those eyes and the furrowed eyebrows. The tight mouth and tuff scar. The air clears, and he sees Johnny and wonders what made this kid so special.


End file.
